


even when i look away (i am still looking)

by choichanhees (sunyoungs)



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, only rated t bc of my incapability to not curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunyoungs/pseuds/choichanhees
Summary: Kevin does calligraphy, Chanhee happens to make coffee.(Or, how to be fixated on someone twice without even knowing 101 with Choi Chanhee.)





	even when i look away (i am still looking)

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally.. my first time writing s/t i like enough to post since 2015???? and obviously my first time writing for tbz which is a little nerve-wrecking to be honest..
> 
> title is from portrait of fryderyk in shifting light by richard siken
> 
> lost & found by jorja smith is my musical hyperfixation of the moment n got me through this

Chanhee hates his job.

Yeah, yeah, _sure_ that can be said about most undergrads. Working in between lectures, grueling assignments and study groups isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Doesn’t make it any less true, though.

See, working at a coffee shop might be constantly romanticized, what with the constant stories about miraculously meeting your soulmate and whatnot, but there’s _nothing_ enchanting about dealing with grouchy, burned-out, zombie-passing students. Especially not when you’re all but an all nighter away from going crazy, yourself.

So, yeah, it’s not fun. He has burns from the espresso machine to prove it.

(Shifts like this just seem to amplify his hatred, really. Chanhee is running on two hours of sleep and working on muscle memory. His still-functioning brain cells, all two of them, are busy thinking about the Linear Algebra test he’d be writing that afternoon.)

“Extra hot, soy latte with a shot of caramel, no foam,” he calls nonchalantly, already getting started on the next drink. He stopped giving longer orders like that the satisfaction of his frustration a month into the job. Not worth the effort. Plus, it wasn't nearly as bad as those customers demanding Frappuccinos even after being told they weren't at _Starbucks_.

The next one, however, is a simple chai tea latte. Thank God.

Though, as uncomplicated as this drink is, whoever ordered the previous one doesn’t seem to get the Don’t Talk to Me memo blatantly written all over Chanhee’s face.

“Hey,” he stage-whispers, beckoning Chanhee over.

As irritating as this guy may be getting by the second, he’s a _professional_ — three-time unofficial Employee of the Month, thank you — and has no choice but to oblige.

Doesn’t mean he has to be particularly nice about it, though, so the customer is met with a blank stare.

Extra Hot Soy Latte (With a Shot of Caramel) (No Foam) doesn’t seem to have a single self-aware bone in his body. “I have a question,“ he too-loud-to-be-a-whisper-whispers, again, a megawatt smile to drive the point home.

Chanhee already knows his type: tall, annoying, conventionally handsome, annoying, used to getting his way, annoying, thinks _The_ _Customer is Always Right_ is an actual rule, _annoying_.

Once Upon a Time, someone, somewhere told Little Him counting to three is an effective way to calm yourself.

One.

Two.

_Three_.

He sighs.

“Yes?”

Extra Hot Soy Latte (With a Shot of Caramel) (No Foam)’s eyes light up. He thinks he _won_ ,  Chanhee doesn’t like it. “Where’s the other guy?”

Chanhee squints. “Who?”

“The other barista. Y’know, on the short side, brown hair, really, really, _really_ cute. Kinda has that hamster thing going on?”

Ah. 

_Ji Changmin._

Absolute sunshine, Changmin. Probably the only positive to working in this dump, Changmin. His _best friend_ , Changmin. Apparently someone Extra Hot Soy Latte (With a Shot of Caramel) (No Foam) has the hots for, Changmin.

Interesting. 

Chanhee settles with the obvious. “He’s off today,” he says, silken, behind his shoulder, and turns back to the espresso station. 

If there’s a reply, he doesn’t hear it. He has a shift to finish, there isn’t time to make friends with one of Changmin’s many, many admirers. 

Truthfully, if you asked him, Chanhee doesn’t know how he does it. Sure, his closest friend is, without a doubt, an extrovert, but the guy practically flirts with _everyone_. Definitely doesn’t know he’s doing it, either. He’s all dimpled smiles, twinkling eyes, and tilted heads. Honestly, Chanhee gets the appeal. It’s cute, yeah. He might’ve had a teeny, tiny crush when they first met, maybe. But it loses its charm very, very quickly once you realize how completely _unintentional_ it is. Ji Changmin is just a Scorpio doing what he does best, really. He’s just living his Natural Flirt life. It’s embedded in his DNA, or something. He can’t be faulted.

Customers with crushes are nothing but an inconvenience to the rest of them.

So, as both Changmin’s Ride or Die and the self-appointed Number One Employee of _Flower Boy Café_ , it’s practically his responsibility to get rid of said inconveniences. Let them down easily, or whatever. 

Thankfully, for both his sanity and the well-being of everyone around him, Extra Hot Soy Latte (With a Shot of Caramel) (No Foam) is the only one he has to deal with that morning rush. 

He exhales, setting aside what’s hopefully his last drink of the shift. 

Ten minutes till he’s off. Five hours till he’s back in the comfort of his apartment. Twenty nine hours till he’s back in this hell-hole.

 

* * *

 

 

Their supervisor, Sangyeon, pats him on the back. “Great job, as usual.” Chanhee _knows_ , thank you very much. However, the ego-boost is still nice, so he grins. “Get yourself some sleep tonight, yeah?”

“Mm’kay,” he stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. “Can’t make any promises, though, I’m a busy person.” 

He gets an eye roll in response. “And if I give you a sneak peek of tomorrow’s chalkboard design?”

Chanhee gasps, not the _chalkboard sign_.

(His obsession with the sign has become a running joke of sorts among the employees of _Flower Boy Café_. Chanhee doesn’t mind it, though, not when the creative fucking _genius_ behind it has made his hellish shifts bearable for the past few months. He’s forever indebted towards them. Will gladly sell them what’s left of his soul, if you will.)

“Cross my heart, I’ll knockout for _at least_ ten hours tonight.” There’s honesty all over his face; if there’s one thing he doesn’t kid about, it’s this. “Kick insomnia’s ass in your name and all that.”

Sangyeon snorts, rather unattractively, in different circumstances Chanhee would definitely comment. “Geez, you really like the artist, huh?” 

He blinks, twice, thrice, as if to say _well fucking duh_.  

“I thought we’ve established this, like, months ago? I have a very professional appreciation for their work, thanks.”

“If professional appreciation includes owning a shrine full of pictures you’ve taken daily for two months, sure.”

Throwing off his apron, Chanhee harrumphs. “Well, maybe if _someone_ finally gave me a name and number, I could compliment them in person.”

His friend-slash-supervisor sombers, all hints of easy-going banter leaving his voice. “Chanhee, you know I can’t do that.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He wrinkles his nose. “Bro Code, blah blah. Just a friend of a friend, don’t know them too well, blah blah. They’re shy and prefer staying anonymous, blah, blah, _blah_.” He’s heard this spiel enough to know exactly where it was going. “It’s whatever, I’m fated to admire them from afar.” 

Sangyeon scratches the back of his head. “You know, you could always leave a note or something, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.” 

“ _Huh_.” He exits the backroom again, pursuing his lips. “I’ve really never thought of that.” A million-dollar-smile is aimed at him. Chanhee is inclined to smile back, albeit a bit hesitant, with the way his thoughts are preoccupied. “You don’t think it’ll come off a bit too strong? Or, like, creepy? Especially if they’re as shy as you’ve _made a point_ to mention.”

“Maybe. But they don’t know you, right? What’s the worst that could happen?” 

Chanhee groans. “Ugh,” he flops face-first into the counter, mumbling into it. “I can’t believe I’m taking advice from your old ass, of all people. What’s next? Accidentally calling you ‘Dad’?” 

He hears a scandalized gasp. 

“ _Two_ years!” 

Chanhee raises his head to stare with one eye, humouring him. “Sure,” he says, adding a nod to prove his sincerity. “But, uh, chalkboard sign? Please? I’d like a bit of happiness before I absolutely _bomb_ my Linear Algebra test in an hour and subsequently ruin my life.”  

That does the trick, waking Sangyeon up from one of the _I’m Twenty One_ age crisis rabbit holes he frequently falls into. 

“Oh, right..” He turns around for a few seconds and seemingly summons the board from thin-air. “Ta-fucking- _da_. Pretty great, right?”

Though the design is on the simple side — word art that says ‘SPRING HAS SPRUNG’ and a bunny in the corner, signifying the start of the season — Chanhee is nonetheless _transfixed_.

“Oh. My. God,” he gushes, stroking the sides of the chalkboard to keep his hands busy, lest he forgets himself and messes it up. “They literally,” a deep exhale, “make words look like modern art. Like, fuck van Gogh and Picasso, this is _it_.” 

“A bit dramatic.”

Chanhee pays his words no mind, his eyes glittering with admiration. He’s never been one for art, really, but the absolute _prowess_ involved in calligraphy — the calculated lines and edges, complexity emerging from simplicity — is something he’s come to appreciate. He imagines a nameless face, a concentrated pout, the therapeutic sound of chalk against blackboard. It’s serene, relaxing, a pleasant buzz of white noise. Almost reminiscent of how he fell in love with _Math_ — 

“Ah, _fuck._ ”

He runs out of the café without as much as a goodbye, the beginnings of anxiety clawing up his chest.

(Love is anything but easy; he and Math are on a break. At _least_ until Linear Algebra stops plaguing his dreams.)

 

* * *

 

 

Choi Chanhee is a planner, or so he's been told, always pragmatic; he thinks two steps ahead. Though, when life throws shit your way, you need to be more than just a planner — you need to be astute, quick on your feet. And _that_ , he also is. It's all skill, all instinct and a whole lot of experience. 

So, when he wakes up at 1AM, from his post-test rejuvenation nap, to a text from Changmin that consists of _sos, need a ride home_ (along with indecipherable key-smashing), he knows two things: Changmin is a bit drunk, Changmin is drunk and ran into an ex- _whatever_ at the function Lee Jaehyun from his dance team is throwing.

 

**choi chanhee (1:26am)**

juyeonie i need your help asap

 

**lee juyeon (1:28AM)**

???

Everything alright?

 

**choi chanhee (1:28AM)**

yeah yeah dw but give me lee jaehyun’s address??

changmin’s there

and drunk

i need to play responsible bff and get him the fuck outta there

so

 

**lee juyeon (1:35AM)**

Wow.. Sounds like Changmin.

But I think so? Hold on.

[SENDS PICTURE]

 

**choi chanhee (1:36AM)**

MWAH you’re a lifesaver

iced americano on the house next time you’re @ fbc

 

Sleep long forgotten, he settles with taking a deep breath, unclenching his jaw, letting his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. It’s going to be a _long_ night. As if the walls of their shared apartment could indulge him, compliment his efforts, he laughs, shaking his head.

 “The things I do for friendship, huh,” is said, before Chanhee makes a move to find his keys.

 

* * *

 

 

In retrospect, haphazardly throwing on a jacket is easy, as is taking the bus at Questionable Commuter hour on a Friday night, because he reminds himself: _Changmin would do the same_.

However, as soon as Lee Jaehyun’s house is within reach, Chanhee becomes increasingly aware of how _out of his element_ he’ll be within minutes. Sure, he’s bound to run into a few acquaintances, but crashing a party uninvited isn’t quite the best impression to make. Standing around a house you’re not familiar with, suspicious, is even worse. He doesn’t know how Changmin does it; he absolutely _thrives_ among strangers.

(While Chanhee is the Earth in all its glory; the calm before the storm and the storm itself; a gentle breeze and an intense tempest, Changmin is glittering skin and stardust. He's a supernova, a child of the cosmos and he shines bright, bright, bright.)

As expected, the festivities are still in full swing, a bunch of people crowded around a keg stand competition right by the door. Chanhee pays them no mind; if he minds his own business, others are sure to mind theirs. Besides, he’s here to find his best friend and get the fuck _out_ , no distractions.

He moves on to the holy grail of irresponsible university parties, the living room.

He sniffs, finding himself not particularly minding the whiff of cheap booze and sweat. There are at least a dozen people on the makeshift dance floor, others preferring to loiter around the room, _others_ to force everyone to fall victim to their PDA. 

It’s a little dizzying, honestly, Chanhee doesn’t know where to start operation Find Changmin. 

“You good?” 

Chanhee turns around immediately, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “Yes?” slips off of his tongue without warning, a hesitant question void of the self-assurance needed in these situations. He feels as if he just sacrificed himself to the sharks; a martyr for introverts everywhere. 

The corner of the stranger’s mouth twitches, it’s more unnerving than it should be — like he _knows_ something. 

(Had the atmosphere been different, Chanhee would find it enticing, maybe. Or maybe the party is already clogging his mind, the fumes of impulsivity coursing through his lungs; an itch he can’t reach.) 

He realizes he’s been staring and being _stared at_ right back. He blinks. 

“Cool.” The guy nods, not particularly convinced, yet doesn’t press. _One of those polite types_ , Chanhee thinks, even in a lawless, boundaryless environment like this. “You just looked a little out of it, is all.” 

A laugh is forced out, though it should qualify as an exaggerated exhale, instead. 

“I’m good,” Chanhee says. “Really.” 

He nods once again, raising an arm to palm the back of his neck. The air between them starts to get static with expectancy. Chanhee doesn’t know why he’s still _there_ , rather than walking off and enjoying his night of unadulterated youth, the interaction fading from his memory within mere seconds. 

Awkwardness does not usually become him, but Chanhee finds his mouth slightly agar, his words playing a game of hide-and-seek. He feels clumsy, on edge, disconnected from the bustle of the house, _he needs to_ _find Changmin._  

“You know what,” he starts — _ah, fuck it._ “I’m looking for a friend, maybe you can help?”

A pair of eyebrows disappear under dark, styled bangs. Chanhee sees him mouth ‘friend’ back to himself, before repeating it out loud. “Friend? What, you lose him or something?” 

Oh. He doesn’t even know this guy’s name and he’s already being _teased_. 

Chanhee side-eyes him. “Is that a yes?” 

“Yeah, sure, not like I have anything better to do.” He grins. It’s rectangular, box-like. Chanhee doesn’t know what to do with this, so he files it away. 

“Well,” he says. “He’s about my height? Brown hair, a deep set of dimples.” Chanhee pauses, an unconscious smile on his face as he collects his thoughts. “Pretty big chompers. They, like, almost pop out of his mouth when he smiles.” 

The stranger lets out a quiet _oh._ “One of the dancers, right? I think I ran into him earlier.” 

“Of _course_ you did. Changmin’s a bit of a social butterfly, you could say.” _And even more-so when inebriated_ , his thoughts add. Chanhee looks around the room, a furrow in his brow, before turning back to his-now-partner. “Do you know your way around this place well enough?” 

He hums, a lilt to his voice. “More than you, at least.” 

“Ha. Ha. Lead the way, then.” 

 

* * *

 

 

They find Changmin.

Eventually. 

In a bathtub. 

_Asleep_. 

It takes a while for him to wake up, to be able to blink the bleariness out of his eyes and form coherent words that don’t fade into a mumble. As his best friend, Chanhee has learnt to balance between being completely endeared — by the puff of his cheeks, his sluggish movements — and chiding. Right now, he focuses on the latter, pulling him into a sitting position while his new acquaintance, whose name Chanhee _still_ doesn’t know (and doesn’t want to, thank you), brings him a class of water. 

If anything, he’s glad Changmin mostly slept off the alcohol; his pupils don’t look dialated and the lethargy is more closely associated with Sleepy Changmin, rather than Drunk Changmin. 

“Hey,” he says, no more louder than a whisper. 

His friend’s smile is weak, but nonetheless present. “You’re late,” he croaks, before clearing his throat. “You’re _late_ ,” he repeats, teasingly. “What took you so long, O Great Best Friend?” 

“Traffic.” 

Chanhee is stone-faced for a good ten seconds before the giggles escape from in between his lips. 

“Really, though, this place is _huge_ and drunk people are a pain to get around. I had to enlist some help,” he explains.

Changmin raises an eyebrow, the _go on_ unspoken. 

“The guy going to get you water?” A blank stare. “Well, you’ll meet him, I guess. Don’t know his name, though.” Chanhee shrugs. He had awkwardly excused himself immediately, his mouth stumbling on the forced formality. ( _A tad disappointing_ , the grating voice at the back of his mind adds. Maybe the guy’s gawkiness _is_ borderline endearing, whatever.) It really was just about finding his roommate; a business transaction, of sorts. 

Changmin grins. “Do you want to?” 

Chanhee sputters. “N-no?” He hates himself for not sounding nearly convincing enough. 

“ _Sure_.” The knowing look his friend sends him is infuriating. 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing. Just that you haven’t hyperfixated on a cute guy in ages, s’all.” 

“Cute guy,” Chanhee deadpans. “You weren’t even paying attention to what he looks like.” 

Changmin laughs. “You, let a complete stranger help you? C’mon, give me some credit here.” 

“Changmin,” he says with finality. He can definitely feel a migraine coming on. “You owe me, drop it.” 

“ _Fine_. You’re no fun.” 

Five minutes pass. 

“You know what,” Chanhee begins. He can see his friend slowly succumbing to sleep again, his eyelashes fluttering, which he _doesn’t_ want to deal with on the way back. “I already wasted enough of my precious hibernation time saving your ass. Let’s just go.” 

“Huh? What about Water Guy?” 

He brushes nonexistent dust off of his shorts. “ _Let’s_ ,” he emphasizes, slowly. “ _Go_.” 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s in the middle of steaming milk — his shoulders relaxing with how unconscious of a task it’s become, his eyes wandering — when it hits him. 

A few customers behind the one currently being served, there’s _the guy_ , from the party. 

In the middle of the café, Chanhee’s café, his turf. 

He feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Which, doesn’t make any sense, because _he_ wasn’t the one taking ages to bring back a mere glass of water. Still, the prospect of confrontation — and at work of all places —  is something he’s not entirely comfortable with. 

(He’d be less frazzled, less possessive of a place that’s definitely not his _,_ had he not just rolled out of bed that morning. Not that he cares what an absolute stranger thinks of his appearance. Just, objectively, Chanhee looks a mess. And not the artsy kind, _that_ is decidedly the guy still oblivious to the daggers being stared through him. With a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose like they belong — _glasses, for fuck’s sake,_ Chanhee’s thoughts almost whimper — and the beanie low on his head, a few stray hairs framing his face. He feels one-upped, like he’s losing a game he wasn’t even aware was being played, let alone knows the rules to.) 

(That, and the echo of Changmin’s _Do you want to?_ is ringing through his head. The answer is still no.) 

The steamer whistles, a few seconds away from spilling the milk all over Chanhee’s front, effectively pulling him out of his qualms. 

It takes a moment or two for the panic to dwindle. He groans under his breath. 

With the situation under control, the mochaccino in the hands of the girl who ordered it, Chanhee sneaks another peak at him, silently praying that he’s still seemingly clueless to his surroundings.

He _is_. The world is still at peace, its axis has yet to be flipped on its head. Chanhee needs to find an escape — and quick. 

Changmin’s on cash, so he, the only person who could somewhat understand the situation with proper _context_ , is out of question. Haknyeon, their newest edition to the team, is fumbling between the pastry display and the oven; still not used to the commotion of lunch rush. Sangyeon’s on break. 

He purses his lips. Chanhee’s truly on his own with this one.

Had he been a little less responsible, he could sneak off, claim he was taking an early break. 

In the meantime, he settles with pulling his _Flower Boy Café_ hat low on his head, avoiding eye contact with anything but the espresso machine. 

It works for approximately five minutes. 

Sangyeon returns from his break, humming an unfamiliar tune, Chanhee lets out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Psst,” he hisses, his voice low. “Sangyeon, please cover the drinks. I need to go on break.” 

Instead of replying, he just squints, as if he’s suddenly hearing from his eyes. “A bit earlier than usual. What’s the catch?” 

“Look,” Chanhee runs a hand through his hair. _Fuck_ his consistency. “I’ll explain later,” he says, face as impassive as it can be. “Promise.” 

“Hmm, well —” 

Chanhee crosses his metaphorical fingers _and_ toes. 

“— alright. No longer than your usual, though, ‘kay?” 

He nods, a little too quickly. “I love you, I love you, _I love you_.” 

Chanhee all but sprints into the backroom. 

 

* * *

 

 

The universe is playing a joke on him.

He’s seen Awkward Party Guy three — _three!_ — other times that week, all during his shift, all resulting in yet another explanation he’ll eventually owe Sangyeon. 

Chanhee contemplates the possibility of being stalked. Maybe this is the start of his very own Thriller, one of those trashy, b-movies his brother’s ex-girlfriend would put on when they were forced to babysit; he _hates_ them. 

Still, he seems much too harmless to be planning Chanhee’s demise. He hasn’t even sparred him a single look — not that Chanhee has been paying attention. 

He huffs. 

It’s a slow shift, which means no queue of drinks to distract him. His classes are also relatively lax this week, which means no assignments or tests to stress-think about for the next four hours. 

Maybe he can sneak his phone behind the counter, test the limits of Sangyeon’s third eye. 

But before he can even _begin_ to plan that out — “Chanhee? I need your help.” 

It’s Haknyeon, visibly struggling on cash. 

As his senior, and the only other employee on shift at the moment, Chanhee is kind of obligated to help. 

(He tries to ignore the _very customer_ Haknyeon is serving. Maybe he fails, a little.) 

“Hey,” he says. An image of cool, collected, completely unfazed. His eyes do not steer away from Haknyeon, not even a millimeter. 

“Uh, I think there’s something wrong with the system,” Haknyeon starts, directing Chanhee’s attention to the monitor. “There’s a special on Cold Brew today, right, but,” his hands point towards a specific button. “That’s the regular price?” 

Chanhee hums. “Maybe —” He opens the ‘Discounts’ menu, manually inputting the _half-off_ special. “— there we go.” 

An unfamiliar laugh rings out, Chanhee’s eyes look up before he can help it.

“My knight in shining Khaki,” he says around a grin. “Really thought I’d have to pay full price for a second there, _the horror_. It’s nice running into you again.” 

_I literally work here_ , Chanhee wants to scream, _you’ve been at my place of employment four times this week._  

Instead, he settles with a curt: “You, too.” 

Silence. 

Haknyeon’s eyes are darting between them like a game of ping-pong. 

The grin falls a bit, turning hesitant, uncomfortable. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy hanging around here all day, but I’m about ten minutes away from being late to class.” 

Chanhee lets out a soft _oh_ ,  raising an index finger as if to say _wait one second_. 

Lucky for him, Cold Brew is about the easiest drink on the menu, it barely takes a minute. 

“Here you go, uh —” _Dumbass_. Curse him for being _nice_ and liking to _use people’s names_ in conversations. His subconscious really needs to mind its fucking business. 

“Kevin.” 

“ _Kevin_ ,” he tries, his tongue becoming acquainted with the syllables. “Have a nice day.” 

There’s that box-like smile again. Chanhee itches to calculate the perimeter of it, then instantly has the urge to slap himself because how fucking _weird_ is that. All the filters in his brain have decided to malfunction at once, apparently. 

In hindsight, it didn’t go too bad. Maybe he _was_ hiding for no reason, though he’d never admit it. Kevin is... Nice. Didn’t confront Chanhee about leaving. Not much different from how he’d been at the party. A bit of a paradox: friendly and courteous, yet jittering with awkwardness. His name alone sparks intrigue. 

(Chanhee doesn’t have the time, though.) 

As soon as Kevin walks away, the bell of the café chiming with his departure, Haknyeon turns back to him, both eyebrows raised.

“You know him?” 

“Maybe. As much was implied, wasn’t it?” 

“Cut the shit,” he whines, practically stomping his feet. Oh, to be young and have everyone dot on you. 

Chanhee counts off his fingers. “One,” he begins. “I met him _once_ , pretty sure he wasn’t even sober. Two, I literally just learnt his name, there’s no shit to cut.” 

“Defensive.” 

“I swear to God, Ju Haknyeon...” 

Haknyeon’s shoulders raise in an exaggerated shrug. “I’m just saying, that was some awkward flirting. Mostly from his side, but _damn_.” 

Chanhee spins from where he was wiping down the counter, tone accusatory. “ _Flirting_? You’re kidding me.” 

“Hey.” now it’s his turn to sound defensive. “I just call it how I see it.” 

“Ah, yes,” he nods, feigning understanding. “Because a single teenager is what you would call _professional_ opinion.” 

“You’re a bitter, bitter old man.” 

Chanhee blows him a kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

This time, Chanhee is expecting his arrival. 

(Deep, deep, deep, _deep_ down, anticipating it a bit. Just a smidgen.) 

However, he does not expect to — once again — come face to face with Extra Hot Soy Latte (With a Shot of Caramel) (No Foam) from the week prior. _And_ _Kevin_. Like, together. Within each other’s company. Chatting up a storm while waiting for their turn. The campus really is a small world — he hates it. 

He’s still in a wide-eyed stupor when they walk up to Sunwoo, the cashier on shift (Haknyeon’s, not his own. Sunwoo isn’t an official employee of _Flower Boy Café_ , though he might as well be, considering this is the _third_ time he’s covered for the older boy). 

The silver lining is that Changmin is off again, Extra Hot Soy Latte (With a Shot of Caramel) (No Foam) can’t make googly eyes at him. 

Speaking of, he notices Chanhee first. Notices Chanhee staring and has the gall to smirk. Chanhee notices _him_ noticing his staring and narrows his eyes. 

“You again,” he says menacingly. Doesn’t work too well with the two heads of height between them and the flower cap on his head.

Kevin blinks, looks between them, like his entire worldview has been knocked off its axis. 

“If it isn’t my _second_ favourite barista!” 

“If it isn’t Changmin’s stalker,” Chanhee drawls. 

His grin broadens. “His name is Changmin? Cute.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“What?” 

A cough. “You two know each other?” 

Chanhee’s mouth is about to stress a definite _no_ but Extra Hot Soy Latte (With a Shot of Caramel) (No Foam) beats him to it. “We do now. He’s going to be my wingman.” 

“Oh, fuck you. I don’t help _weirdos_.” 

“Weirdos, huh.” Kevin sounds faux-contemplative, his mouth threatening to pull into a smile at any moment. “Looks like you’re out of luck, Younghoon.” 

Slow applause echoes throughout the café. “Go on, then,” Sunwoo says, flat. “Not like we’re trying to run a business or anything. 

Extra Hot Soy Lat— _Younghoon_ pouts. Chanhee finds everything about him absolutely pathetic.

“But—” 

“Your drinks are ready,” he says robotically. “Thank you for visiting _Flower Boy Café_ , have a nice day.” 

“C’mon..” 

“ _Have a nice day_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Chanhee is on break. 

He makes the mistake of staying in the café, taking refuge in a secluded corner table, and now Younghoon won’t stop sending him the most pitiful Puppy Dog Eyes. He’s praying for the sweet release of death. 

As soon as he finally manages to retreat into his music, the chair opposite him lets out a muted creak. 

It’s Kevin. 

(If his volume is suddenly four levels lower, no one will ever know.) 

“Hey.” 

Chanhee raises an eyebrow, questioning. 

“Sorry for, uh,” He makes an unclear motion with his hands. “Just.. Sorry.”

“Barging into my place of work?” Chanhee suggests. “Distracting me from my duties? Disrupting the peace? Befriending a stalker?” 

Melodic laughter fills the space between them. 

Kevin nods gravely, wide-eyed and serious. “All four.”

“Well, in _that_ case,” Chanhee starts, pushing the uneaten Raspberry White Chocolate Scone in front of him. “A peace offering.” 

He stares at it unblinkingly. Chanhee’s fingers start to tingle with unease. 

“Not a fan of raspberries?” He asks, uncharacteristically quiet. 

Kevin seems to snap out of something. “ _No_ ,” he pulls the scone towards him, as if there was a threat made against it, shoving half into his mouth at once. “Mine.” 

He swallows. “I mean.. It’s good. I love it. Thanks.” 

“Sound less enthusiastic, I beg of you.” 

“I’m _serious_.” 

Chanhee grins. “I know.” 

The familiar teasing is strikingly similar to their first interaction, though the roles are reversed. There’s something comfortable — pleasant, even — about Kevin’s guileless good nature, the clumsy yet perpetual smile on his face. 

(Chanhee is struck with the urge to challenge the limits of his self control.) 

(This is the best break he’s had in _ages_.) 

That feeling scratching the surface, demanding attention, Chanhee realizes, is _content._ And he’s feeling it at work. Surrounded by Capitalism’s tools. 

This is fucked up.

 

* * *

 

 

Reading period gives Chanhee a chance to unwind. He takes advantage of the long weekend, choosing to spend it in Jeonju and de-stress, lay on his family’s couch and let his mother force-feed him and tut in disapproval because _how did you let yourself get this thin, Choi Chanhee_ , rather than stay in the dorms like the majority of his peers. 

Well, or so he thought. 

Not even being surrounded by the nostalgia of his childhood could force his brain into a complete halt. 

(A rectangular smile plagues his thoughts, always when he least expects it.)

 

* * *

 

 

A few days away from the workplace might not be much, but at _Flower Boy Café_ , it’s just enough.

As soon as Chanhee arrives for his first shift of the week, uncharacteristically spirited, he spots it: the new chalkboard design. 

An unconscious smile spreads across his face. 

It’s advertising the new smoothies being added to the menu in lieu of the quickly-warming weather, a charming _Today’s Special: Refreshing Smoothies and You. You’re special._ written across it. Chanhee feels his face slowly warming. 

There’s something calming, almost _eerie_ , about how consistent and dependable they — and their unseen visits to the café — are. Sure, they might be getting compensation (Sangyeon still refuses to cough up the details), but the board is never half-assed. The passion, diligence and brilliance is practically dripping from it; it’s admirable. Chanhee wants to know more, know _them_. The questions he’d ask, the compliments he’d give, are countless. 

(Kevin’s niceties are immediately replaced with the calligrapher’s allure. He wonders if he’s _that_ easy, being flattered by simple, pretty-looking words; if he’s too engrossed, a contemplative, starry-eyed Taurus running in circles. He should only handle one fixation at a time. It’s exhausting.) 

“So,” 

Sangyeon materializes out of thin air, ushering him past the door, past the _Employees Only_ sign, and into the backroom.

“You gonna go through with it? The thing?” He puts on his best Chanhee impression, “for _the absolute best artist in the world_?” 

A wounded gasp. “I do _not_ sound like that. Ever.” 

“Right,” Sangyeon says, mocking. “Anyway, will you?” 

“Maybe.” 

“As in ‘yes’?” 

“Maybe,” Chanhee repeats. “As in perhaps, possibly, if the inspiration strikes me.” 

He snorts. “Oh, cut the shit.”

Chanhee furrows his eyebrows. “Why is _everyone_ telling me that? Is my complete integrity hard to believe?” 

Sangyeon hums. “Something like that.”

 

* * *

 

Chanhee does go through with the thing. 

It’s no more than a sticky note — a few lines of praise and appreciation — short and sweet. 

(Or so he hopes.)

_Dear soon-to-be-acclaimed calligrapher,_ he writes. 

_Hi! I’m a big fan. Really. This might be coming out of left field, but I can’t say it in person, so I’ll take my chances. Coffee sometime? Not necessarily here, but.. Yeah. I’m intrigued._  

_Yours,_

_Choi Chanhee_ _Grumpy Barista_

 

He sticks it to the back of the board, making sure to inform Sangyeon, just in case. It’s a bit  — a _lot_  — embarrassing the more he thinks about it, but Chanhee has yet to fill his humiliating quota for the month, anyway. Worst comes to worst, he’ll ignore it and Chanhee will have to move on. He’s shooting his shot and now it’s on the calligrapher’s side of the court, awaiting his next move.

 

* * *

 

 

His next move is a reply.

 And again.

  _And again_. 

He doesn’t accept Chanhee’s request for coffee, but in retrospect, this is better. The third reply is a short: _in the fourth grade_ , in response to his question of _when did you start calligraphy?_ Chanhee finds himself with something to anticipate, and multiple times a week, too. 

(Every reply makes his heart clench a little bit, makes him giddy with excitement. Chanhee keeps the sticky notes in a drawer.) 

He starts anticipating Kevin’s visits a bit more openly, as well. 

They converse a bit, usually, either while his drink is being prepared or after. Never more than five minutes at a time, but even that seems like enough. Chanhee learns that he’s double majoring in Visual Arts and Graphic Design (Chanhee scrunches his nose and replies _Math_ to the unspoken question, voice unusually meek), that his parents and sister are still back in Vancouver, that his body will probably become three quarters Iced Americano at this rate, that he _sings_ ( _me too_ , Chanhee tells him. Kevin, very casually, mentions karaoke). 

It’s nice and simple. Maybe they’re friends? Chanhee has yet to decide. 

He does not make his heart pound, like the mysterious person behind _Flower Boy Café_ ’s chalkboard designs. It’s pleasant, comfortable; he’s an agreeable person. 

Case in point: Chanhee is currently baiting an argument, calls a Western album Kevin suggested to him — LANY by LANY — Sensitive Unwashed White Boy trash and Kevin simply asks him to look up the lyrics, lest it changes his mind. 

“You’ll have to translate it all for me,” he whines. 

A nod. “Definitely.” 

“ _Kevin!_ ” 

“What?” 

“That,” Chanhee begins. “Was a joke. I haven’t even heard the album yet.” The explanation brings a visible sense a relief onto Kevin’s face. “You’re too nice.”

He is — too nice, that is. The other day, Haknyeon told Changmin, who told him, that Kevin paid for another customer’s coffee because their card declined. 

Kevin laughs. “Oh, _please_. _Stop it_ ,” he waves a hand, dismissing. (Chanhee has come to learn it’s a flustered quirk. It’s very cute, he likes it.) “Well then, I hope you enjoy it. It’s one of my recent favourites.” 

“But _is it_ Sensitive Unwashed White Boy trash?”

“No!” 

Chanhee throws his hands up in mock-surrender. “Just checking.”

 

* * *

 

 

Crisis comes on a Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of his Statistics class.

He usually doesn’t check his phone during lectures, but they’ve learnt relatively nothing in the past hour, so he takes the chance. 

(Chanhee almost instantly regrets it.)

 

**ji changmin (3:43PM)**

chanhee

chanhee >__<

CHOI CHANHEEEEEE

 

**choi chanhee (3:50PM)**

WHAT

seriously changmin.. unless the apartment is burning down i don’t want to hear it

 

**ji changmin (3:51PM)**

well you’ll want to hear this

 

**choi chanhee (3:55PM)**

okay?? on with it already

 

**ji changmin (3:55PM)**

nvm since it doesn’t involve our apartment being on fire

nvm nvm

this is too serious to even keep to myself

what if i told you i saw the chalkboard guy

the one you’re obsessed with

 

Chanhee gasps, quite audibly, his eyes immediately darting around to make sure he didn’t disrupt the class.

What the _fuck_.

What happened to being _shy_ and _staying anonymous_ and all the horrible excuses that don’t even matter anymore. He feels a little betrayed, honestly — by both the universe _and_ the calligrapher. Figures his first sighting would happen when Chanhee isn’t on shift. 

His phone insistently vibrates against his leg.

 

**ji changmin (3:57PM)**

chanhee..

**ji changmin (3:59PM)**

u alive????

**ji changmin (4:00PM)**

don’t scare me

 

Chanhee quickly packs his things and promptly walks out of class.

Before the class ends. 

For the first time in his university career. 

He’s dialing Changmin’s number as soon as he’s out of the door, his bottom lip practically bitten raw by the time his friend picks up. 

“What the _hell_ ,” Chanhee breathes. 

There’s only the shuffling of feet on the other end for a few beats. 

“Hi,” Changmin greets. Chanhee assumes he was walking into the backroom. “Are you good?” He takes the faint hum as an affirmative. “You’re usually the levelheaded one, between the two of us, leave the dramatics to me next time, okay?” 

He blows a raspberry. “I want death.” 

“Like, seriously? Or..” 

“I want death,” he repeats, deadpan. 

“C’mon,” Changmin says. “Shouldn’t this make you _happy_? Chances are, you’ll actually see him — at some point — now.” 

“No, optimism is for children.” 

“He was really cute, too..” 

Chanhee needs to sit down in the first bench he sees to process that. 

Throughout his hyperfixation, he doesn’t think he’s ever attempted to put a face to the calligraphy. First, it was solely about the art, then the little quirks written all over the designs and sticky notes. It’s been a rather particular obsession; less personal, more of an extension of all the miniscule details he’s learnt in the past two weeks. He _knows_ it’s a guy, _knows_ he visits the café for chalkboard purposes once or twice a week, _knows_ they’re the same age — but that’s pretty much it. It’s easier to have an infatuation with a concept, rather than a living, breathing person. 

Maybe that’s why Chanhee isn’t taking this too well. 

“Chanhee? Are you still there?” 

He nods, before realizing Changmin can’t see him. “Yeah, sorry. Got lost in my head for a bit.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Changmin replies. “Hey, I should really go back to work, though. I panicked and told Sangyeon I had to take an emergency call.” 

“This _was_ an emergency.” 

He laughs. It’s contagious, there’s a hint of a smile on Chanhee’s face. “You’re right. Which is why I don’t feel bad. It was pretty dead, anyway. He could handle it.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Chanhee says, ending the call before Changmin could go on another spiel. 

He exhales, looking around the university’s quad. What an eventful few minutes. He can definitely feel the beginnings of migraine knocking against his temple. 

He’s truly, wholly, utterly fucked.

 

* * *

 

 

“So.. Math, huh.”

Chanhee squints, looking up from his _Multivariable Calculus_ notes to find Kevin squinting right back — though for entirely different reasons. 

“Are you going to sit, or did all the numbers freak you out?” He asks. 

Kevin huffs, pulls out the opposite chair, and throws himself onto it to make a point. 

Chanhee snickers behind his hand. “You’re so easy.” 

Teasing Kevin has slowly become one of his favourite pastimes, especially with the little effort it takes to get underneath his skin. They’ve built an easygoing rhythm — a casual, budding friendship, one Chanhee enjoys even more-so than those with his long time friends. 

“I am _not_ ,” he retorts. “Maybe I could read between the lines: you wanted the company.” 

It’s his turn to frown. “Says who?” 

“Says me.” 

“With what qualifications?” 

Kevin grins. “I’m,” he points to himself. “A newly graduated Choi Chanhee expert.” 

“Okay.” Chanhee says, excruciatingly slow. “What’s my favourite colour?” 

He sputters. “Uh.. Blue?” 

Chanhee makes a buzzer sound. “Wrong.” 

“Black?” 

“Like my soul? Nope.”

“Final answer,” Kevin hums. “Purple.” 

Chanhee’s lips prepare to curve around another negative, before his mouth drops open in shock. “Wha—” 

“Am I right? Am I right?” He asks, ecstatic. 

There’s a petulant pout on Chanhee’s face. “No.” 

“Liar!” 

He crosses his arms, giving Kevin a hard look. “And how do _you_ know that? You’re a mind-reader now, too?” 

Kevin just laughs. Chanhee wants to feign annoyance for a little longer, but it’s a bit infectious. He can feel the giggles bubbling up his throat. He doesn’t fight it, just this once. 

“Ugh,” He says, after a few beats, his body still warm with laughter. “I hate you.” 

Kevin smiles, lopsided. Always so genuine, so indulging, so _radiant_. There’s a tiny flutter in Chanhee’s stomach, he idly wonders if the scone had gone bad. 

“Mine’s Olive Green.”

(Chanhee manages to repress all memories of Tuesday for the rest of the week.)

 

* * *

 

 

It’s strange being at Lee Jaehyun’s place, again — in midst of a party, _again_ — albeit under other circumstances. 

This time, he’s a willing guest, rather than Ji Changmin’s conscious. 

“Chanhee,” he says for the millionth time that night. They’ve only been here for ten minutes. “Are you sure you want to stay? This really isn’t your usual scene.” 

“Not my usual scene,” Chanhee repeats. 

“You know, unproductive members of society being _irresponsible_.” 

He sniffs. “Well, I was invited. And I live with you, anyway, so..” 

“ _Ouch_.” 

Chanhee grins over the lip of his Strawberry Daiquiri wine cooler. “Help me find Kevin and you won’t have to babysit your _completely uncool_ roommate.” 

Changmin scrunches his nose. “I resent that,” he says, bumping his shoulder with Chanhee’s. “The only person allowed to call _my_ best friend uncool is _me_.” 

“But,” he continues after a beat. “I’ll help you find your Justin Bieber.” He ignores Chanhee’s groan. “Who knows,” there’s a jab in his side. Chanhee wants to die. He needs better friends. “Maybe by the end of the night you’ll be _One Less Lonely Girl_. Get it?” Changmin preens, practically buzzing. Chanhee wonders how long his two brain cells have been cultivating that one. “ _Get it?_ ” 

“Fuck. _Off_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kevin ends up finding him first.

His look is very reminiscent of the first time Chanhee saw him post-party; the round spectacles, the beanie, the well-worn jeans  — he tries not to stare. 

(He fails, maybe, just a bit. The glasses, man. _The glasses._ He convinces himself that his breath catches because of OAA — _Objective Aesthetic Appreciation_. Nothing more, nothing less.) 

Chanhee clears his throat before he’s approached, forcing a nonchalant smile for good measure. 

In typical Kevin fashion, he’s greeted with a simple _hey_ and a crooked grin, making himself comfortable on the couch. “A bit of a déjà vu, huh?”

He’s barely had enough to feel a buzz, but Chanhee blames the one drink — that he hasn’t even finished — for being fixated on how _warm_ his side feels against Kevin’s. Enough to completely miss his question, in a daze. 

A hand is waved in front of his face. “Earth to Chanhee,” Kevin sing-songs. 

“Have you ever seen the chalkboard sign at FBC?” Chanhee blurts out, before he can think. 

Kevin’s voice falters, pouting (in confusion, Chanhee’s mind justifies).“Maybe?” 

Chanhee hums. “Well, it’s personally my favourite part of the café. Here’s the thing, though,” he whispers the last part. “There’s this calligrapher, who designs it every week, but _no one_ knows who they are.”

“No one?” 

“Besides Sangyeon, I guess, but he doesn’t count ‘cause he refuses to tell me. I can’t stand him.” He huffs. 

“Interesting,” Kevin says. 

Chanhee fully turns towards him, narrowing his eyes. “Interesting? It’s _horrible_ , Kevin, how am I supposed to express my absolute _love_ and _adoration_ if I don’t know who they are?”

He chokes. " _L-love_?"

“Completely platonic, but that’s not the point,” Chanhee explains. “Are you okay?” 

Kevin coughs, twice, reaching out for the nearest drink (which happens to be Chanhee’s wine cooler, he has to divert his eyes, lest he think about all the points their lips have indirectly met — _or something._ Or something). 

“Uh. Yeah.” His voice sounds a bit hoarse, Chanhee decides not to embarrass him. 

“Anyway,” he continues. “As you can see, this is a valid dilemma. Plus, Changmin saw him the other day — which, _not fair_ — and apparently he’s cute? Kevin... _Kevin_ ,” Chanhee shakes his shoulders, purely for dramatic effect. 

“Cute, huh.”

“Mhm,” he doesn’t pull his hands away, even though he _really_ should. Chanhee pretends he can blame that on the unfinished drink, too. His next words join the list of things to _blame on the (nonexistent) a-a-a-a-a-alcohol_. 

“Maybe even cuter than _you_.” He emphasizes the last word with a poke to Kevin’s chest. 

Kevin blinks, repeatedly, as if the five words require processing. 

Chanhee pretends there isn’t a slight sting of rejection.

(He’s pretending a lot lately, it seems.) 

“Ha,” he forces out, straightening, backing himself into the other side of the couch. In all honesty, he feels like running; it’s what his instincts are screaming, _wailing_ , but the thought of being around Lee Jaehyun’s many acquaintances brings him even more unease. Chanhee settles with giving the other boy a weak smile, an attempt to salvage the once-comfortable rhythm. 

“Right,” Chanhee says— 

Just as Kevin seems to snap out of whatever crisis he’s experiencing. “Wait.” 

“What?” He asks, intelligently. 

“Um,” Kevin scratches the back of his neck. “You’re cute, too.” His lips twitch, hesitant, _bashful_. 

Chanhee gapes, like a blowfish (he, under no circumstances, looks like. _Shut up, Sunwoo_ ). 

“I didn’t... I—Wow.” 

“Wow?” 

“Kevin Moon,” he laughs, giddy, a smile threatening to split his face in two. “Are you — and correct me if I’m wrong — _flirting?_ Is that how they do it in Canada?” 

He’s given the silent treatment for ten minutes. 

Observing the blush on Kevin’s cheeks, his ears flushed red, makes it entirely worth it.

 

* * *

 

 

Chanhee hears of Jacob — many, many times — through word of mouth.

( _He’s sweet_ , says Sangyeon. _I want a basketball rematch with him_ , Juyeon tells him, a little too intensely. _Lee Jaehyun wants to date the hell out of him_ , gossips a drunk Changmin. _He reminds me of home_ , confides Kevin.) 

Though, actually meeting him, all he can think is _cute_. 

He’s soft-spoken, an absolute darling, completely out of Lee Jaehyun’s league. 

Chanhee loves him. 

However, he also _needs_ him to disclose who the calligrapher is. Or he’ll die. No pressure. 

“C’mon,” he begs. “I know you’re the ‘friend’ Sangyeon keeps referring to, the friend with the _friend._ You know.. Midas, but with turning letters into art.” 

Jacob’s smile looks a bit strained. “Sorry, I really can’t.” He says, again. “They’ll reveal themselves when they’re ready?” A nod. “Yeah, for sure.” Chanhee doesn’t know if he’s convincing him or himself. Either way, it’s no less disappointing. 

Chanhee turns to their third party. “ _Kevin_ ,” he drawls. “Help me.” 

He looks between the two Canadians, their eyes boring into each other in a wordless conversation. 

Kevin shrugs. “Sorry.” 

Chanhee sulks, audibly sighing, his face tucked into his arms. 

“My life is over,” he mumbles. “Everybody hates me.” 

One of the chairs opposite him lets out a distracting screech. “That’s my cue,” Jacob says. Chanhee looks up to him smiling apologetically. “I’m helping Jaehyun with the English Literature class he’s taking.” He laughs at that, _of course_ Lee Jaehyun would. “It was nice finally meeting you?” 

Chanhee nods. “You, too. Even if you _did_ break my heart.” 

Kevin elbows him in the side, he sends an offended look his way. 

“I take back ever, ever, _ever_ implying you were cute.” The glare Chanhee sends him is chilling; it could kill. 

He has the gall to smirk. “Sure.” 

“I’m leaving.” 

“Sure.” 

“Oh my God,” Chanhee breathes. “I really can’t stand you.” 

“ _Sure_.” 

He stands, mostly because his break is technically over (though, Kevin doesn’t need to know). “Never speak to me again,” Chanhee throws behind his shoulder. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

 

**kevin moon (12:01PM)**

sorry :(

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Changmin, he’s so _cute_ ,” he wails into the cushion. 

“Who?” Changmin asks, underneath him with his back against the couch. 

“I can’t tell, you’ll make fun of me.” 

There’s no reply, Changmin is engrossed in the film playing on his laptop. Chanhee aims a kick to his side to regain his attention. 

He looks up, frowning. “Calligrapher Guy, right?” 

Oh. 

_Oh._  

That is, in fact, _not_ who Chanhee is referring to. He doesn’t know when his relationship with Kevin developed into complaining about how _cute_ he is, his mind alternating between multiple instances that fit the bill, but he’s here now. 

Chanhee has always been pretty in-tune with his emotions, so this doesn’t shatter his worldview as much as it brings a lull — a _huh, when did that happen_. 

(Rather than a sudden infatuation, the process is gradual, unhurried. It ironically helps Chanhee promptly come to terms with the assessment that yes, he _does_ want to kiss Kevin Moon.) 

He thinks of his rectangular smile, the unsure lilt of his voice, the way he absolutely cannot accept compliments for the life of him. And, _well,_ he’s sure the warming of his cheeks, the hammering in his chest, definitely mean something. 

He chuckles nervously. “Not really?” 

Eyes flicker across his face, searching. Changmin stays quiet, though, Chanhee loves him for it. 

He takes a deep breath, familiarizing himself with thoughts of _I like him, I like Kevin_ , his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

Chanhee plants himself, face-first, into the cushion — _again_. 

“Okay,” he manages after a moment. Raising his head, he braces himself for the _I told you so_ Changmin is entitled to. “Kevin. It’s Kevin. I.. like Kevin?” He’s not sure he’s ever repeated his name that many times in a single sentence. (He doesn’t exactly hate the sound of it, either.) 

Changmin snorts. “No shit.” 

“Hah?”

“Chanhee,” he tries to placate him with a pat on the arm. “For the past few weeks, you’ve been all _Kevin this, Kevin that_ , you’ve barely spoken about Mr. Chalk-For-Arms — I know a Choi Chanhee fixation when I see one.” 

Chanhee glowers, more annoyed at himself than anything else. “Am I _that_ obvious?” 

A hum. “Maybe not obvious enough, given the object of your affection.” 

He considers this. Kevin isn’t acting too differently, so he definitely can’t know. Which is, well, good. Chanhee will confess on his own terms, even if he’s certain Kevin will malfunction on him — _again._  

“What, do you think I’ll have to rent out a billboard?” He asks, laughing. “Serenade him with Carly Rae Jepsen’s _I Really Like You_?”

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t.

Though Kevin still remains blissfully ignorant despite Chanhee’s many hints and obvious flirting attempts, so maybe he should. 

Chanhee blows a lock of hair out of his face and continues to stare down (read: zone out while looking at) the chalkboard sign. Today’s design says _Depresso: The feeling when you’ve run out of coffee_. Chanhee is feeling rather depresso himself, but a lack of caffeine doesn’t explain it. 

His shift technically ended an hour ago, but he’s been sitting in this chair instead of heading home, deflated and ready to blend into the monochromatic walls, the ice in his Iced Americano long since melted. 

A notification blinks his phone awake. 

 

**kevin moon (6:06PM)**

do you want to watch a movie maybe??

i was gonna rewatch the greatest showman w/ jacob

but he ditched me >:(

 

**choi chanhee (6:07PM)**

and be 2nd choice?

goodbye

 

**kevin moon (6:10PM)**

chanhee :(

:((

:(((

:((((((((((

:((((((((((((((((((((

 

**choi chanhee (6:15PM)**

ok

 

* * *

 

 

Choi Chanhee is a weak, weak man.

He _does_ end up serenading Kevin, but with Never Enough — his personal favourite from the musical.

As soon as the credits roll, he yawns, stretching across the floor and purposefully in Kevin’s space. Chanhee then knocks his head against the other boy’s elbow, his grin stretched wide. “Kevin Moon cries to musicals, who would’ve thought.”

“Shut up,” Kevin pouts. 

(Pouts, _pouts._ It’s the cutest fucking thing Chanhee has ever seen with his own two eyes.) 

He drops his head on Kevin’s thigh — _testing boundaries_ , Chanhee tells himself — and flutters his eyelashes. “Make me.” 

Eyes narrowed, Kevin raises a hand, before immediately reconsidering. It hangs between them, aimless. Chanhee wants, _needs_ , to know what he intended, so he narrows his right back. 

The air between them becomes charged with challenge. 

(Chanhee thinks _Kiss me, I dare you, make this as cliché as possible_ with every fiber of his being, his soul, his psyche.) 

Surprisingly, Chanhee is also the one to end their pseudo-starting-contest; his eye catches something familiar shoved underneath a textbook. 

Holy. 

Fucking. 

Shit. 

The words themselves he doesn’t recognize — it’s in English, too far away for Chanhee to read — but the handwriting he could identify in his sleep. 

The penmanship he’s been admiring, examining, for months. 

He didn’t jump from fixation to the next, because they’re the _same person_. 

One and the same. 

Kevin Moon has been living a double life and managed to endear himself to Chanhee not once, but _twice_. 

(He’s frozen in place, now, pupils wide, heart hammering under entirely different circumstances.) 

( Here lies Choi Chanhee, biggest fucking _joke_ in the universe.) 

As if Kevin can sense his internal distress, he follows the direction of Chanhee’s eyes. “What are y— _Fuck_.” 

Chanhee regains control of his limbs, practically jumping five feet in the air. He promptly stands, avoids eye-contact with the other boy. “I.. I think I should go, maybe.” 

“Wait, no,” Kevin whispers, frantic. “I _know_ what this looks like, but there really is a logical explanation.” 

Chanhee successfully dodges the arm stretched towards him. He’s on automatic, his brain having shutdown somewhere between _Kevin is the calligrapher_ and _I’m a huge fucking dumbass_. 

He’s two steps away from the door when he hears Kevin say, “Let me explain.. _Please_?” 

(Chanhee convinces himself that any hint of _pain_ he hears in Kevin’s voice is delusion, naive wishful thinking.) 

He isn’t followed. 

Chanhee is torn between being grateful and heartbroken.

 

* * *

 

 

Because Kevin is Kevin, Chanhee is given all the time and space he needs. 

He feels pathetic, even being _angry_ and _betrayed_ has him remembering all the reasons he likes Kevin. His consideration knows no bounds, it’s absolutely disgusting. 

He wants to hold a grudge — _he’s a Taurus,_ he reminds himself, _a unyielding Taurus_ — but his efforts are fruitless. 

(Chanhee still likes him so, so much.) 

His initial reaction might have been a bit dramatic and exaggerated, maybe even unreasonable, but he now understands it was mostly the shock clouding his judgement. Kevin did not necessarily lie to — nor deceive — him, but his knowledge of Chanhee’s fixation with his calligraphy is embarrassing. He had the upper hand, an unfair advantage. The reminder of how much he’s _gushed_ about Kevin’s work, either to him or in front of him, tints his cheeks pink. 

Rather than than being infatuated with seperate people, which he could _handle_ , he’s captivated by two sides of the same coin. 

It’s confusing. 

And frustrating. 

Makes him feel sick and giddy all at once. 

It’s after three days of being holed up in his room — not leaving for classes, even going as far to call off work — that he hits his breaking point. 

He hits send before he can overthink it.

 

**choi chanhee (1:45PM)**

hi..

if you still want to talk, I’m all ears.

 

**kevin moon (1:50PM)**

omw

 

 

* * *

 

 

After a grueling thirty minutes, Chanhee talking himself in and out of a follow-up _nevermind_ text, there’s finally a knock at the door.

Chanhee doesn’t give the caterpillars in his gut a chance to become butterflies. 

He opens it to Kevin twiddling his thumbs, on his face the most nervous expression he’s seen from him yet. In all honesty, he looks like a wreck. Chanhee feels a bit guilty. 

“Hey,” he greets, then clears his throat. “Uh, come in?” 

Kevin does come in. 

He’s oddly silent, it makes the short trip to the couch even more intimidating. No cheesy jokes, no awkward laughter — Chanhee hates it. 

And then he backs himself into the far corner. Which is, honestly, the last straw. 

“Okay,” Chanhee says, voice steady. “You said you wanted to explain, right? _Explain_.” 

He snaps his eyes up from where he was determined to look at anywhere and anything _but_ Chanhee. “Yeah,” Kevin confirms. “Yeah,” he repeats, nodding to himself. 

Chanhee rests his chin on his hands, giving his undivided attention. 

“Sorry,” he says, expression guilty. He sounds so _genuine_ Chanhee’s heart aches. “Well, to start — I didn’t know until the other day? At the party?” Kevin chews on his bottom lip. “I had an existential crisis, after. Convinced myself telling you would ruin everything. And then you mentioned it _again_ , with Jacob, which just reaffirmed that you had this preconceived image of me — as the person doing the calligraphy — and that as Kevin, as someone you already knew, I could never compare. In retrospect, that sounds silly, I know. But I freaked out. I’ve never been the best at taking compliments—” Chanhee snorts at the understatement. “—and having all of that praise piled onto me was _terrifying_. The most flattered I’ve ever been in my life, for sure, but it also scared the hell out of me.” 

Kevin inhales, having said that all in one breath. 

“You done?” Chanhee asks, grin impish.

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Stop interrupting.” Now he’s _sure_ they’re back to normal. As Chanhee beams from ear to ear, his cheeks are threatening to cramp up. It’s relieving, comforting, that they could overcome even this. 

“I’ve liked you for a while, you know,” Kevin adds, much to Chanhee — who _chokes_ —’s surprise. 

“Come again?” Chanhee might need that one in writing. 

Kevin hums, smug. “Choi Chanhee, I like you. A lot.” Chanhee likes him so much he could _implode_ , but he doesn’t. 

He crawls closer to him on the couch, instead, the distance between them far too much. 

Bracing his arms on Kevin’s shoulders, Chanhee smirks, then leans in. He plants a kiss on his  — now _red_ , he observes delightedly  — cheek, the loud smack audible on the other side of the building, probably. 

“I like you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Chanhee hates his job.

The pay is abysmal, the customers are entitled, the shifts are long. 

The environment, though, he’s come to think is decent. 

It’s a bit slow this shift, so between customers he’s conversing with Haknyeon about his first year exams, offering as much help as he can. He’s a Business major, and rarely studies until he night before, so Chanhee doesn’t know if his tips will be beneficial. 

Someone clears their throat — a customer. Chanhee looks up, there’s a hitch in his breath. 

_Oh_. 

It’s Kevin. 

(The effect he has on Chanhee is immediate: his face warms, a pleased smile etched across his face, he can feel his heart in his throat. He likes him. He likes him. _He likes him._ ) 

“Welcome to _Flower Boy Café_ ,” Haknyeon says, dead-eyed. “What would you like today?” 

Chanhee hip-checks him out of the way. “Hi.” 

“Wait.. What happened to never wanting to be on cash unless nec—”

“Shut up, Haknyeon.” He turns back to Kevin. “The usual?” 

Kevin nods. “Please.” 

A gasp. “Are you not even charging—” 

“Shut _up_ , Haknyeon.” 

Iced Americano, it is. Chanhee makes one in a minute flat. Kevin likes taking his coffee black, no sugar, so there’s not much he can do. He throws in a heart-shaped cookie, because he _can_ — both blatantly flirt with Kevin and give things out on the house. 

Haknyeon is still looking between them, blinking rapidly as Chanhee is passing the drink and pastry over. 

“Don’t hurt your brain,” he advises. “And go take your break, the grownups are talking.” 

“You’re both a _year_ older.” 

Chanhee ignores his protests. He has better things to do, like make eyes at Kevin until his face flushes three shades darker. 

“So,” he says wryly. “What brings you to my humble place of employment?” 

“You asked me to come?” Kevin sounds confused. For such a smart person, he really _doesn’t_ know how to read the mood. Chanhee is hopelessly endeared. 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah — _that_ is called flirting.” 

“Well.”

“Make it up to me,” Chanhee demands jokingly. “Let’s get ice cream after my shift, your treat.” 

He accepts. 

(Chanhee wonders if this counts as their first date.)

 

* * *

 

 

It does. 

Their first date goes a little like this: Kevin pays, they both get Mint Chocolate Chip, Chanhee whines about one thing or another. It’s not much different than their pre-confession hangouts — elated is an understatement, Chanhee is _euphoric_. 

Kevin makes a big deal about not kissing on the first date, demands to be _wooed_ , Chanhee respects that. He fixates on the fit of their hands, warm and comfortable like everything _ChanheeandKevin._  

And then, in true Kevin fashion, he still kisses Chanhee before they head their separate ways.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u so much for reading?? hope it wasn't too much of a chore.. 
> 
> thank u 2 the boyz for making me get off my ass and start writing again, thank u 2 newmoon for being one of my fave dynamics ever and thank u 2 my job as a barista for finally coming in handy!! 
> 
> the chalkboard sign thing is kinda inspired by my co-worker who, unlike kevin, just copies whatever she finds on the internet ksjsksk


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